Blood of the Lamb, Blood of the Beast
by Mnemosyne Saga
Summary: At the end of World War II the weres are astir. They tasted freedom under Grindelwald and refuse to be crushed again. Fenrir Greyback and his pack seek their origins and allies in this brave new world. The fic explores not only Fen's origins but all.


_A/N: This is kind of an offshoot from my other story "Fur." I loved the peripheral characters of Rafe and Tasha Canagan so much I felt they needed their own backstory. This really gives a fuller picture of werewolf culture and how politics and magical advances shaped were culture. It is a stand alone story but still a great companion piece to "Fur"_

Blood of the Lamb, Blood of the Beast

Chapter 1: And I Stood upon the Sand of the Sea, and Saw a Beast Rise Up

Rafe could smell the storm coming. It was the thick black clouds that pushed the damp husky cloud smell tinged with the ever present salt of the sea over the waters and sands up to his back porch. Rafe Canagan was six years old and he had never lived anywhere but his little cottage outside of Portree on the Isle of Skye. He knew the smell as completely as he knew the smell of his mother's roses. Storms like the one currently brewing on the horizon were few and far between in Portree but each was deeply engraved on his young brain.

Across the harbor he watched the little town hunker down for the storm, closing windows and shutters, moving potted plants inside. They too remembered harsh winds and drowning rains that accompanied those clouds. Squalls like this one cropped up occasionally durning the summer when the tides brought in warmer waters from the south and clashed with the crisp cool air. It was the clash of opposites that smudged the sky with pitch black clouds. Rafe gave the sky a final forlorn look and picked his way across the stony beach toward his best friend Fenrir's porch.

Beth Canagan watch her son skip lightly across the space between their front porch and the Greyback's home despite the foreboding sky. The boys had been inseparable since Ewan and Mòr Greyback had moved in two weeks before Rafe's third birthday. They were an odd couple, Ewan and Mòr but Beth loved them dearly for how they were with Rafe.

Rafe was a special baby. When he was only eighteen months old, he gleefully turned one of the smooth stones from the beach into a flower. Beth had been frightened at the knock on her door halfway through Rafe and Fen's first play-date but Mòr had simply sat her down and explained some things. Mòr had calmly explained that the boys had been playing when Rafe levitated a box down from a high shelf. She then matter-of-factly asked Beth how she felt about magic. She went on to explain how Rafe was a very special boy, that he, like Fen, could do things other children can't. She explained that she and Ewan were the same way and that if Beth had any problems with Rafe's "wild magic" as she called it, Mòr would be more than happy to help.

The women had had tea every day after lunch since then. By now, Rafe and Fen were more brothers than friends. Beth put a kettle on when she heard the unmistakable shuffle in the hall that heralded the return of her husband, Angus.

"Storm's comin' up, Beth dear," he said, doffing his boots by the kitchen door. She hated it when he tracked sea water fish stench through the house after a day at the docks. "Where's Rafe?" he asked looking around for his sandy haired son. Beth raised an eyebrow at her husband, "You have to ask?" Angus scrubbed his hands free of fishy stink and gave a non-comital shrug as if to say _No but I always ask anyway._ He turned to face his wife, "I want him home tonight. I know you trust Mòr but, with this storm brewin', I'll sleep better if Rafe's in his own bed." Beth gave the sky another furtive look, that storm would hit the harbor by nightfall, and as much as she hated to admit it, she agreed with Angus.

Rafe was cross legged on the floor of Fenrir's room. He stared entranced by the little purple robed figures swooping across a poster under the heavy gold legend "The Pride of Portree." Fenrir had spent the last half hour explaining quidditch, a subject Rafe found fascinating.

Fen grinned from ear to ear when he told Rafe that his dad had bought tickets to the next match and Fen was allowed to bring a friend. He was tall for a seven year old, gangly with oversized hands and feet like a great dane puppy. He expectantly stared at Rafe with his dark wise eyes and Rafe realized that Fen had asked him a question. Rafe startled saying "what?" Fen rolled his eyes. "I said Da's comin' home tonight. Can you stay for dinner?"

Rafe blanched. Ewan Greyback struck fear into him like no other man. He could not have been more different from Rafe's father, Angus. Rafe feared his father's anger and disappointment, every boy does, but he never feared his father. Angus Canagan was a hard man, a fisherman, and a dock worker; a man who could drink everyman in Portree under the table; a man who could lift a compact car off a small child and had. Angus Canagan was a hard man but he wasn't a bad man.

Ewan Greyback spoke kindly to outsiders. He had smiled and charmed Rafe's mother almost instantly but Rafe kept catching the flinty look in his eye like a hangnail and couldn't get past it. There was just something about him that Rafe didn't trust. He was proved right when one night before his fifth birthday, Rafe awoke to Fen rapping on his window. Fen had a busted lip and a large red hand-print that stretched from his chin to his temple. The print was already beginning to purple.

In the years that followed, Rafe grew accustomed to leaving his bedroom window open whenever Ewan Greyback was home. That way Fen wouldn't have to get him out of bed to sneak in. Beth never acted surprised to see Fen come down for breakfast without invitation once or twice every few weeks.

Rafe shrugged "I'll ask me ma" and looked out Fen's window. The thick black clouds had reached the farthest point of the harbor and shook loose a violent peal of thunder. He couldn't shake his sense of unease. Rafe usually loved storms but for some reason he could almost taste the electric crackle of anxiety in each breath.

They were interrupted by a knock at the front door and Mòr's voice calling up the stairs that Rafe's mother was there to take him home. Rafe ran to the top of the stairs and yelled "Ma, can I stay for dinner?"

Beth stood at the base of the stairs, hands on hips glaring up at her son who had put on his best puppy dog eyes. "Your Dad wants you home, no arguments." Rafe replaced the puppy dog eyes with a pout for the ages. Beth cocked an eyebrow at her petulant offspring and that scraped the pout off his face. He scurried down the stairs like a dog with its tail between its legs throwing an apology over his shoulder to Fen. His mother gathered him up and walked him back across the stretch of beach that separated Fen's home from theirs. Rafe looked up at the sky and felt the first heavy drops hit his face. He could feel the storm's approach to his very core, a cold electric chill that scampered along his veins. Rafe allowed his mother to shuffle him inside, something bad was coming and he wanted the safety of his mother's arms and their kitchen more than anything.

Fen watched Rafe go through his window. The rain had started slowly, at first with a smattering of fat drops then grew to an impenetrable grey sheet. A fresh roll of thunder camouflaged the tell-tale crack of his father's apparition. He sincerely hoped he hadn't done anything bad in the past weeks. He tried to think back on the times his mother had been angry with him, looking for the fear inducing phrase "You wait till your father gets home" but Fen drew a blank. Fen stomach gave an anxious turn, not remembering didn't mean he was safe.

At dinner Fen watched his father like a deer watches a sleeping bear, wary and quiet. Ewan scraped his fork across his plate with a frown on his face. For the last fifteen minutes he'd devoured his meal with the steady practiced efficiency of a police officer or a fireman. Ready to go at a moment's notice. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his scarlet Auror's robes.

Mòr gently spooned another helping onto her husband's plate, "How was Germany dear? You're home earlier than I expected." Ewan shoveled a fresh spoonful of his dinner into his mouth before answering. "Well, the minister sent a group of us over there to make sure that this Hitler bloke wasn't another of Grindelwald's pawns. The German Minister of Magic seemed to think their new muggle minister was under the Imperius curse."

Mòr nodded for him to continue, "And was he?" Ewan shook his head, "Unfortunately not. It appears the twitchy bastard invaded Poland and rounded up millions of his own population of his own volition. He and Grinelwald may be caught by cut from the same cloth but he certainly isn't under a curse. The unfortunate shock was his personal guard. The larger group is called the SS but his personal hit squad and guard are called 'Devil Dogs.'" Mòr's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?" Ewan laid his silverware down with the forced calm of a man trying to keep his temper and turned to his son. "Fen, go to your room. I wish to speak to your mother alone."

Fen retreated from the table, allowing relief to flood his system. He'd grown fearful when his father had pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey and downed two glasses before dinner but this dismissal meant that Fen wouldn't be the one punished tonight. He stopped at the top of the stairs hoping to hear more about these "Devil Dogs" and he was rewarded.

"Weres. The bastard's been using weres just like Grindelwald. Some of them are even muggles. It's disgusting." Fen inhaled sharply. He'd been told horror stories about weres from the time he could talk. Viscous soulless beasts, that's what his father called them. The shadow on the ground shifted and his father's voice developed a razor edge "Fen better be in bed or there WILL be consequences."

Fen scampered to his room trying to make as little noise as possible. He could hear the soft murmur of his mother's voice, unintelligible through the floor. It had that soothing tone it took whenever she tried to draw Ewan's anger away from Fen. Fen hated his father more that anyone else when he saw his mother healing some bruises with her wand. Bruises always started with that tone of voice. Fen crawled on his bed and drew his knees to his chest wishing for all the world that the pounding rain outside could drown out the low grumble of his fathers voice. Fen jolted at the crash of a glass shattering as the low grumble escalated muted yelling. He felt the first prickle of tears as he realized that no, he wouldn't be the one punished tonight. Fen ran to the window and pried it open willing himself not to hear scrape of furniture, the growl of his father's voice, or his mother's yelp of pain.

Fen clambered out of the window. He'd go to Rafe's house. Rafe's house was safe. Before he met Rafe's father, he'd thought all fathers were like his own but they weren't. He swore silently to himself that he'd grow up and be like Angus Canagan. And one day he'd punish his father.

Rafe leaned his forehead to the cool window, squinting through the sheet of rain in the hopes of seeing Fen. He could barely make out the Greyback house through the almost opaque haze. Only Fen's window glowed like a lone eye. Lightning illuminated Fen as he scrambled out of his window and down the drainpipe. Rafe snuck to the bathroom to grab a towel, he didn't want Fen dripping rainwater all over his bed.

After laying the towel down, Rafe went back to the window to check on Fen's progress. The other boy made it safely down the drainpipe and was slowly picking his way across the space between the two houses, trying to shield his face from the harsh rains.

There was something wrong, Rafe could feel it. He wanted to yell to Fen, to scream for him to hurry but he couldn't be heard over the sound of the rain. Something was moving, rising up from the sea. His first thought was that it was a wolf but it was much too large. His second thought was that it had to be a bear, there was no wolf that big. His eyes widened in fear. It was headed for Fen.

Rafe struggled against the window, whose swollen rain soaked wood held it shut faster than cement. His breath came in ragged panicky gasps. That animal was headed for Fen and Rafe couldn't do anything about it. He looked around his room in panic, searching for something he could use to break the window. His fingers closed around the handle of a cricket bat. Mid-swing the thought of his mother's anger flickered over his brain. She would be sorely vexed about the window. He could live with that, Fen was more important.

The window broke apart with a crash and through the hole in the glass he saw the beast lunge at Fen. It caught his forearm, throwing him to the ground. Rafe swung again clearing a hole large enough for his body. He threw the bat out of the window and clambered out after it, ignoring sharp gashes he earned for his trouble. Rafe landed awkwardly sending a shooting pain from his ankle to his knee. Rafe drew up his bat and turned to face the beast that had sunk its teeth into his brother's shoulder at the neck.

Fen hadn't seen the beast until it was almost upon him. He'd been too focused on Rafe's window, like a ship to a lighthouse. There was a moment of panic when he saw the creature, far too close to escape. It lunged at him at him and he threw up his arms to protect himself. He felt the searing pain of its teeth in his arm. The animal threw him to the ground and a wet pop told him that his arm had dislocated at the shoulder. The crash of glass registered vaguely in his brain but pain and fear overwhelmed any rational thought. The creature caught hold of his leg and dragged him closer, shifting its dinner plate sized paws to pen the boy beneath its weight.

It dawned on Fen that, no matter how badly he wanted it, he'd never grow up to be like Angus Canagan or anyone else for that matter. The beast sank closed its jaws into his shoulder, teeth scraping the flesh off his collarbone. Then the side of the creature's head exploded, sending blood and fur everywhere.

The beast disengaged from Fen's shoulder and turned to his attacker. Rafe stood, covered in gore, a wild violent look on his face, like a berserker of myth. He cocked his arm and swung the bat a second time, driving the beast back. When swung a third time, Fen felt the crackle of wild magic in the air. The bat made contact, the creature's head compressed inward, and its body fell still.

Fen reached out and touched Rafe's ankle. He tried to form words to thank his brother but his voice wouldn't come. Instead all color drained from the world and everything went black.


End file.
